


May These Words Find You

by briaeveridian



Series: Modern AUs [1]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Ben POV, Drabble, F/M, Fluff, Happy Ending, Modern AU, Modern Era, One Shot, One True Pairing, Plot What Plot, Soft Ben Solo, but he types them to gain needed distance for editing, poet Ben is one of my favorite headcannons, the first drafts of his poems are all calligraphy, the handwritten ones all go to Rey, these two make my heart sing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:20:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25831945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/briaeveridian/pseuds/briaeveridian
Summary: Ben has always written poetry for himself until one day something takes over him and all the words that suddenly pour out of him are for someone else. Someone he feels compelled to find.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Series: Modern AUs [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1918042
Comments: 14
Kudos: 41





	May These Words Find You

Ben always felt nervous about sharing his writing. 

The poems he wrote were quiet, internal, and it seemed like a betrayal to voice them aloud. He had been writing for more than half of his life, since he was a young teenager struggling with the changes inherent in adolescence.

Over time, his prose became more languid and ephemeral, though he always tried to tie them to reality, to emotionally anchor them in accessible ways. For many years he had been misunderstood, even within himself. Poetry was a way for him to find meaning, truth, and acceptance. 

Of course, some poems were more successful than others in pursuing such ends.

Recently though, the poems had shifted. It was like he had started writing for someone else. A person he did not know. Yet somehow, a person he knew deeply. 

And the words poured from him, fully formed sentences that wove a tapestry of things that were extra foreign to him: companionship, contentment, and care. The poems became an imagined bridge to this individual, a way to reach out and feel something on the other side of his own existence. A source of light that warmed him, even only in imagining.

He awoke one day after writing his fourth poem dedicated to this nameless presence with a sudden sense of purpose flowing through him. What if this person were to hear these words? What if he could throw the poem like a rope across the expanse and someone would grab a hold? What if proclaiming the words out into the world could be the end to his loneliness?

Almost immediately, nausea rolled over him in thick, salty waves. An impulse to trust, to be brave seared him then, like spilling a cup of scalding tea across tender flesh. He didn’t want to have to present himself like that. But deep down he knew what choice he would make. 

A force was pulling or pushing him, he wasn’t sure which way but the energy was tangible. He had to read his poems to an audience.

* * *

When the small cozy bookstore opened its doors for the reading on a Thursday evening soon after, Ben swiped his palms against his dark pants in a feverish manner. A few people began trickling in and he suddenly became grateful for his friend Poe who was adept at advertising on social media. _At least there will be someone here_ , Ben thought. 

Then, as even more people walked in, Ben was seized by a sudden irrational spike of anger at Poe for being overly successful at recruiting attendees. _It’s too many_ , he thought, as his stomach twisted. This was a mistake _._

Ben kept clearing his throat and bobbing his head with his eyes closed, repeating to himself over and over, _This is how you find your person. Just trust_.

He pursed his lips and looked at his watch, realizing it was about time to invite these random people into his mind, to confess myriad emotions that he had rarely dared communicate before. To cut himself open and let everyone see.

He knew he would probably have to read in different venues multiple times to increase the chances of having her hear the words. _You’re going to have to do this performance repeatedly_ , he thought, terror gripping him. 

But in the same breath, it occurred to him that he had never been so determined in his life. And with a single-minded focus _just to reach this person, not to contain or possess them_ , he began to read his poems.

Though attempting a measured reading, his nerves caused him too much trouble. Ben bumbled the words a bit, despite his practicing for days beforehand. 

After the first poem ended, he noticed with a jolt that he hadn’t even read the title. His ears reddened beneath his dark hair briefly. _Better to just forge ahead_ , he thought. The audience, not being privy to his self-recriminations, made approving noises that he registered with relief. 

The second poem, entitled _To Wait_ , flowed more smoothly and he was able to take more deep breaths. Only after he spoke the last line did he look up into the small crowd of people for the first time since he began the reading. 

The faces peared at him with joy and support, some clearly aware of how nervous he was and all the more enthusiastic in their applause. He provided a tight smile and a curt nod in appreciation of their response. 

As he rifled through the printed pages for the third poem, his eye caught a glimmer of bright yellow. Ben jerked his head up at a young woman with brunette hair, warmly dark eyes, and a bright dress sitting in a chair near the back. She sat five rows from the stage with such a look of startled emotion he was tempted to run to her. 

When they locked eyes he noticed a shiny hint of tears pooling at the edges of her lashes. She wiped at them impatiently and nodded encouragingly at him, with the most sincere smile curling her lips.

Ben brought the next poem, _Amongst the Wonder_ , level with his face so he could glance over the edge of it to see her as he read the words. As he spoke the words he could see her mouth moving along with him quietly, as if she had each one memorized. 

Astonished, his hand that grasped the poems fell heavily against his leg and the two of them gazed at each other, their mouths forming the same words at the same time. She stood to applaud him when they completed in unison.

He didn’t finish the reading. Instead, he bounded to her as she dashed toward him, each smiling more fully than they ever had before.

“How did you do that?”

“I could ask you the same. I have been writing these poems for weeks.” The woman’s smile was wondrous

Ben didn’t notice how strange her response was.

“What’s your name?” 

“Rey.” 

Her dimples caught his eye and. Then he saw the freckles on her face, like stars against a morning sky.

“I’m Ben.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe this worked,” he murmured, fingers rushing through his hair. Rey beamed at him again.

* * *

Two months later, Ben and Rey began their first joint poetry reading at the coffee shop where they met. 

Instead of carbon copies of each other, their new poems became conversations, mini universes all their own, orchestrations of infinity. They shared them together with enthusiasm and exuberance. 

Now, sharing his poetry brought him more joy than he ever imagined. But there were still some poems that Ben kept quiet, only for Rey’s ears and heart.

**Author's Note:**

> ✨Thank you for reading ✨ 
> 
> You can find me on [tumblr](https://briaeveridian.tumblr.com/) where my SW obsession lives aggressively.


End file.
